


Lay Down My Guns

by hanyou_elf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 12:49:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanyou_elf/pseuds/hanyou_elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's guns are heavy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Down My Guns

_I have seen the Devil in this place. And I lost myself when my friends found the grave_

Dean Winchester is too old to hunt anymore. He doesn't have his former stamina, and he lacks his once nearly legendary grace. Dean is a broken and wounded man.

He's only thirty-nine.

The fall of his thirty-fourth year, a demon managed the seemingly impossible task of killing Bobby Singer. Nobody knows for sure when Bobby died, only that some time in mid-September, Bobby stopped answer calls. Dean had been the lucky one.

The demon who'd killed Bobby left a cruel message in beloved blood: _The first of many. Winchesters are targets, and all their allies._

Dean was proud he'd held the vomit down until he'd escaped the house.

He and his brother have always been in the thick of things. Far too entrenched in the pains of the people they helped to be truly just like they're father. They can't find a solution and just move on. They have to make sure that the people affected are going to be as okay as possible.

And Bobby, he'd always been there. He was always the one Dean could let himself feel the most vulnerable with.

Without Bobby, things got complicated. Sammy took up Bobby's role. He was educated, and research suited the youngest Winchester better than the action, especially after the wendigo that nearly tore his muscled arm off.

Dean came to rely on his brother more than ever, as his researcher and as a sounding board. It felt like being abandoned all over again when Sammy started answering the phone, but in a different fashion. Sam was always in contact with Dean. And more than a few times, took up his trusty sawed-off and trucked it to Dean's side.

Hunters are special creatures. They trust hard, love deeply, and when they lose one of their own, they mourn in that wonderfully redneck kind of way- guns and alcohol.

Fifteen hunters Dean had never met before showed up at Bobby's home to help Sammy get his own system set up and organized. For six years, Sammy's followed his calling, and helped as many hunters as he can.

But Dean's alone. And he's been attacked by far too many creatures to allow himself to relax unless he's at Singer Salvage.

He's lost everyone he's ever known, and he found the message four more times. Nobody ever claimed responsibility, so Dean's best guess is that he and his brother are only targets because of the legends behind their name. Sammy agrees, but that doesn't make it easier.

And it only serves to make things worse for Dean. Hunters know him. Know his car. Most look to him for advice and guidance, to Sammy for near absolute knowledge on all things Supernatural.

Dean's anonymity is fast fading. Quickly losing ground beneath the weight of fame and legend. He detests this part of his life and longs desperately for the past. When angels dicked he and Sammy around, when demons strove to push them too far. He craves the fear of hell-hounds and the reassurances of Castiel.

His life is quickly becoming the future he thought he'd avoided. Without the addition of Sammy being ridden by the antichrist. He needs to find a place to go to ground, to lick his metaphorical wounds until he just gives up and dies. Maybe he could go back to Sammy. Run the Salvage while Sammy researches.

He doesn't want to linger. Too beaten, too broken. Too many things have passed before him, and all he wants is to find a place that can offer him peace.

He has loved and he has lost. Both parents, his uncle, his own life, Sammy twice and finally physically, and Castiel. And Castiel is somehow worse than losing Bobby.

Castiel was his one great romance. He'd had lovers before Castiel, his brother included, but none could ever compare to the power and beauty and grace and faithfulness that was Castiel.

No one will ever match the twice fallen angel's depth of emotion, his peace and power that he bolstered Dean with. He gave and gave until his body gave out. He'd fallen too far for grace to save him. And no matter what Dean wanted, God wouldn't continuously revive Castiel. The angel had only had so many chances with his charge, among the flock.

Dean has taken solace in the fact that Gabriel was a lucky angel. God brought his messenger back. The former trickster no longer roamed the earth freely, but he made frequent strops to see Dean. Apparently, though Dean didn't understand, he was a favorite of the archangel.

But even still, it isn't enough. There's a hole that Castiel's final death left. Impossible to fill. It hurts to wake alone: less than two years after his lover's death. He hadn't been allowed in the room with him. Castiel died alone on an operating table in the middle of Texas.

Dean hasn't gone back since.

Sammy wants him to come home to South Dakota. To sprawling fields, to humbling skies. Sammy wants Dean home so he can watch his brother.

More than once, Dean's been found drowning in the bottom of cheap whiskey. Castiel's .45 brought out of it's quasi-storage to menace him from the table.

Hunters who looked up to Dean were fearful that he would take himself out.

He won't though. He promised Castiel when they started hunting as lovers, as humans both, that he would never take his own life. That he wouldn't intentionally kill himself on a hunt. He'd promised to live on after Castiel, and Cas had done the same. But Dean's tried. And he can't.

Not anymore.

Maybe it's the road that's slowly bleeding him. Being alone almost all the time is hard. It has to be time to go crawling back to Sammy. To try to find a spark again. He isn't weak-willed or cowardly, he just lacks purpose. Focus. It's hard to maintain the facade of nonchalance when all he wants is to lay down and never get back up again.

He sighs heavily as the car growls to life. Even she's starting to struggle under the weight of time.

 _These guns are not as heavy, as the hearts they defend, I can’t wait to get back home, where I can find some rest._

Sammy is, as always, pleased to see him. Even though Dean knows that he looks like death warmed over. Although, perhaps not so good an image, because Dean’s intimately aware of who Death is. And particularly, what the Horseman looks like.

And he’s been thinking about it more and more lately. Maybe, he could summon Death and finally give the old man his soul. He’s flirted with Death often enough.

“You have to see this car,” Sammy announces softly. “I kept her specifically for you. It’s a ‘69 Impala.”

Dean can’t help but smile. Always the considerate one, his Sammy is. He knows how hard it is sometimes, and he does his best to soothe Dean.

“Sounds great, Sammy,” Dean smiles. His voice is rough with misuse and road silence. He doesn’t talk anymore unless he has to. He just doesn’t have anything to say anymore.

“You look worn out,” Sammy observes. “Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll make you some dinner?”

“Sounds good.”

Sammy will make him something healthy and filling. He knows that Dean doesn’t take care of himself anymore. He knows that Dean does the bare basic necessities and nothing more. And he’ll lecture, but Dean doesn’t eat unless he’s hungry. And he’s just really never hungry anymore.

“Sammy, sleep with me tonight?”

“Dean, we don’t anymore,” Sammy chastises gently.

“Not sex. Just, sleep. I... I miss him,” Dean admits slowly.

Sammy looks at him long and hard, staring down into the depths of his soul, at least, that’s how it feels. The intense stare, the dog with a bone that just won’t let up. Dean looks long enough and bows his head. Emotional confessions are hard on the soul.

Finally, after what feels like a small eternity, Sammy nods slowly. “Just sleeping Dean. Anything else has passed.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted from Dean’s shoulders and he could have sagged in relief if he wasn’t so determined to show a brave, strong face to his little brother. He needed to show Sammy that he was still strong, emotional outburst, notwithstanding.

 _I’m barely holding on, I can’t wait to lay down my guns._

Dinner is quiet. They talk about cars. They talk about research, about coordinating hunters across the nation. About Sammy’s system of the phones, so that the hunters can reach an authoritative ‘other’ in case of emergency.

Sammy is a powerhouse of knowledge. He’s taken to being the brain in the middle like a fish to water. There’s no better replacement for the invaluable Bobby, and Dean likes to believe that Bobby would be proud of his brother.

And Dean couldn’t be prouder. The hunts never broke his brother. They didn’t destroy the last vestiges of innocence that Dean fought so hard to keep Sammy in possession of for as long as possible. He trusted people. He relaxed and smiled and _lived._ Dean could never do so. Ever.

When dinner is done, Sammy throws the dishes into the sink and offers his brother his hand. It’s like a paw around Dean’s smaller, calloused hand. They walk to the bedroom together, hand in hand, and Sammy strips Dean slowly. No teasing. Methodical and patient. He is sparing no wasted minutes to tease this into something else.

When Dean and Castiel got serious, Sammy decided that they wouldn’t be together anymore. Dean wanted to keep his brother as his lover, but it was impossible, given Sammy’s desire for complete faithfulness.

Sammy had been a fantastic lover. He’d been determined to give anything he could in bed. He’d been attentive and quick to learn. And of course, his ass had been incredible.

With Castiel as his lover, he’d given up Sammy. But it only served to fix the little bit that had been wrong with their brotherly relationship.

In his boxers, Dean allows Sammy to push him back onto the bed. He curls in on himself, bringing his knees to his chest. His body shakes with effort and he rests there until Sammy climbs in behind them.

His brother is larger than him- he eats better, he’s healthier, and he’s just a larger man. His arms wrap around Dean’s body and just holds. It’s comforting, and Dean lets himself relax for the first time in two months.

“You could always stay with me,” Sammy whispers into Dean’s shoulder.

The words are perfect, and everything he wanted and sort of needed. But he wouldn’t. Sammy would be far too much temptation for Dean to take. Especially since he knows just what his brother sounds like, looks like, feels like, tastes like coming apart as he surrenders control. Dean doesn’t answer that, they both know the answer he’d have to give. He’s not supposed to admit to needing somebody else anymore.

“Good night, Sammy,” Dean whispers instead.

Sammy’s arms are warm around him, comforting and soothing. He’s comforting and soothing. And Dean lets himself let go. He closes his eyes and leans into the warmth of the body behind him. Slowly, his body relaxes, weight melting away as he gives into Sam.

 _I’m laying down these burdens, taking off the weights, to lay down my guns._

Dean doesn’t wake up beside Sammy. He doesn’t wake up on Earth again. When he opens his eyes, he’s in the small hotel room he confessed to Castiel. Their first kiss, the first time they’d shared a bed and each other. Dean can’t stop the smile that breaks across his face as the small but oh so very warm body shifts closer to him.


End file.
